Stop and Survive
by TopHatGirl
Summary: Santana hates seeing Britt like this. She'll force Artie to get back with Brittany, no problem. Except she might be getting more than she bargained for. Artana.
1. Chapter 1: Get In

A/N: I did a oneshot of Artie and Santana, and I liked the idea of them being a couple. So here we go, exploring a not popular couple in a multi-chap thing. Enjoy….OH! And by the way, this first chapter is set right after Duets.

Britt was crying. It was Santana's fault. She caused Brittney to run to Artie, and to have Artie break up with her.

"Hey, Britt," she said. She sniffed.

"Hi."

"Still sad about Artie?"

"Yeah."

"Why?" Santana asked, disgusted. "You're my tough girl. You've lived through thousands of break ups."

"But…but…he didn't eat spaghetti with me!"

Santana sighed. This was going to be one of those nights. "Come on, Britt. Ice-cream. Movies. I'll even make spaghetti."

Artie was editing a video. Editing was hard work. It took about three hours to shoot and edit three minutes.

"Artie?" Mr. Rauss asked. He looked up.

"Yeah?"

"Did you get the flash drive I asked for?" He held his hand out. What a douche.

"Sorry, Mr. R. I didn't."

"You better have it by tomorrow."

He sighed.

Santana needed to buy some more protein shakes. She got in her brother's van(she can't afford her own car) and started driving to that new Health Food store. She was driving down the street, scaring a few little kids on the street by jerking the car a bit, and saw a wheelchair.

"Hey, Wheels."

Artie looked up. "Oh. Hello Santana."

"Get in," she said.

"Can't. See, I'm handicapped."

She rolled her eyes and pulled the car over to the curb. She got out, and scooped up Artie from his wheelchair, and put him in the passenger seat. Then she tossed the chair in the back.

"There."

Artie looked at her from the corner from his eye. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because, I want you to get back together with Britt."

"No way!"

Santana gave him her trademark glare.

Artie shook his head. "Won't work on me, San. Besides, you can't hurt a cripple."

"Damn you."

"Anyways, why do you want me to get back together with Britt? You were the one who told me about her slut attitude."

Santana sighed. "Because even though she's a total idiot, she's still my homie. And I can't see her like this, all mopey and crap."

"I don't care. I'm not going to go out with her just to please you."

"Whatever. Where am I dropping you off?"

"Electronics store."

After she plopped him on the wheelchair in front of Better Buy, she had one last warning.

"This isn't the last time I'm going to bug you about this cripple!" she said.

Artie nodded. "I'll bet." he smiled.


	2. Chapter 2: Bring It On, Cripple

A/N: Learned what the shipping label for Artie/Santana is. Artana. I like it! Sounds like a new age paint shop. By the way, Matt's still here in my fanfic. Because he never gets enough love.

"Artie?" Mr. R's annoying high pitched voice called his name. \

"Yeah?"

"I need you to get some photos of the Cheerios squad for the newspaper."

Artie groaned. "Mr. R, there are so many pictures of the Cheerios."

"Well, if there aren't at least ten in every edition, Sylvester breaks another camera," Mr. R said. He began tapping his foot. Man, Artie hated that guy. He rolled over to the Cheerio practice field, and poised his camera. He sighed, watched them build another pyramid.

"SANTANA, FRONTFLIP!" Sue yelled. Santana nodded, and did a-holy crap-a freaking front flip off of the top of the pyramid, landing in one of those base catcher girls. While she was mid-air, Artie quickly snapped a picture. Wow. He gawked at Santana. What a feat…

"What're you staring at, cripple?" Santana called from the field. Artie raised up his camera, taking a picture of Santana's face mid-yell. He giggled girlishly at the picture. She gave him the bird, and went back to Cheerio's practice. Artie smirked, and took a few more pictures. Sue finally dismissed them. Santana marched right up to him.

"Impressed, Cripple?" she asked.

"Actually, yes," he said, pushing his glasses further up on the bridge of his nose.

"Whatever." She did that dumb head flip thing, making her ponytail bounce.

Santana sat there. In Glee. Extremely bored. You know, it's actually extremely easy to teach glee. People like Rachel, Mercedes, and Puck just march right up to Mr. Schue and announce 'I have a song to sing'. He just has to nod and give out stupid assignments we don't do.

After Rachel sang some random song about acceptance, or caring, or having a bad day. Some bullcrap that everyone loves. She thought it sucked and everyone cheered.

Mr. Schue stood up. "Okay, let's get into groups of three, time for a little competition." Before anyone could go to their usual friends, Mr. Schue pulled out the 'hat of destiny'. Everyone groaned. "Pick two names! He said.

Santana went to the hat first. She knew what was going to happen. She was going to pull Artie and Mercedes. Because Artie had been near her more often than usual and Mercedes would make them confront their differences.

She stuck her hand in the hat.

"Tina…and…Matt." Ohkay, not what she had expected.

Artie went up. He stuck his hand in. "Rachel…" sigh. "and…Mike."

After everyone had pulled out names, Mr. Schue smiled.

"I want all of you to create a song and dance for everyone! I will decide the winner, and the prize is one free box of pizza!" Everyone shrugged. Better than nothing.

Santana looked around to see what the competition was like. Her eyes caught Artie's. She glared.

"It's on," she mouthed.

"Bring it!" Artie mouthed back.


	3. Chapter 3: Noticing and the N Word

A/N: Okay, sorry to tell you guys this, but this fanfic is going to be updated the slowest out of all of them until I get more reviews. But, I mean, I'm trying? This chap is from Santana's POV. Tell me if she's getting OOC.

Artie. I kept thinking about him in her advanced math class, the only class I share with him. And yeah, I'm in advanced math. So what? Shut up.

Why are you thinking about Cripple? That's what you're asking, right? Well, ever since that car ride, I kept noticing him more. Like you never notice a change in the house next door until it's pointed out. Artie was pointed out to me, and now I notice a lot more. How he never talks in Math, but he gets A's. He gets solos in Glee, but is always in the corner clapping and shaking whenever someone else is singing.

'Why do you keep staring at Cripple?' Hannah passes me a folded up paper note. She talks a lot, but she's in Cheerios, so she's cool.

'What are you talking about? I hate that guy. 'I pass back. She smirks at me. I flips her off under the desk. I don't stare at Artie. She doesn't know what she's talking about with all of the air in her head.

I hit my locker with my fist. It won't open after the first fifty times! Also, it's a bottom locker, so I flash everyone when I try to bend down to open it. Not like I care.

"Need some help?" A voice asks me from behind. I turn around. Of course.

"Whatever, Cripple."

He gestures for me to move to the side, and wheels up to my damned locker.

"Combo?"

"What if you memorize it?"

"So? I'll find birth control pills and Math homework. Big whoop."

I sigh. Damn him. "24, 49, 3."

He turns it, and it automatically opens.

"How the hell did you do that?" I ask.

He winks dorkily. "Secret handicapped Jedi mind trick."

"Your JedI mind tricks won't work on me." I say. I almost automatically cover my mouth. Oh, God. I only know that because the Star Wars Marathon was on and Puck wanted to watch it! And, I guess I Netflixed it that one time.

"These aren't the droids you're looking for!" He says, waving his hand mystically. I do my snort laugh. God, how embarrassing. He pushed up his glasses.

"Okay, get the hell away now, Geek," I say, just wanting him to leave me alone.

"Wait a sec! I wanna dig through your locker."

"No, don't!" I say. Too late. He found them. My art sketches.

"Wow…" he says, flipping through my sketchbook. There's one of my house, architect view, one of Britt standing at the bus stop, one of my father in the hospital bed, and one of the homeless man on 7th Street.

I yank it out of his hands. "Don't tell Sue."

He gawks at me. "Sue? We should tell the art teachers! Get your own gallery! You're…"

"A slut cheerleader singer. Just how it should be," I say. He pushes his glasses further up.

"Santana?"

"What?" I snap, desperately trying to stuff the sketchbook in the back of my locker.

"Have coffee with me."

"I don't date nerds."

"It's not a date. I want to get to know you."

I slowly close my locker.

….

…..

…

"Really? Not a date?" I ask.

"Nope."

…

"Okay." There's a huge lump in my throat that's never been there because of a boy.

And…

And…

Never has a boy made me nervous and sweaty about a non date.

NEVER.


	4. Chapter 4: Two Identities

**A/N: I keep on replaying the cover of 'Teenage Dream'. Adorable. Also, does anyone else find Will kind of creepy now? Not in the latest ep(NeverBeenKissed) but in the last one, he went from caring to creepy. I'm kind of hoping Emma stays with Carl. Oh, and this chap is from Artie's POV. Plus, I totally imagined Artie on the other side of the table with Santan at Breadstix. **

Latte with double caramel. Artie took a small sip, and looked around for Santana. And she came in. No Cheerio's uniform, which was weird. She was wearing a plain t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers.

"Sup," she says.

"Hello. You look different," I says.

"Is that a compliment or an insult?" she asked. I looked her up and down. Wow. She looks perfectly normal, and never looked so...pretty. Not hot. Not sexy. Pretty.

"It's a compliment," I say. She does a smirk smile. She orders a black coffee, not sugar, no crème.

"I like it strong," she says. I nod. "So was there something specific you wanted to say?"

"Yeah," I say. I reach in my backpack, and pull out a sketchpad and pencil. "Draw me."

She stares at the sketchpad. "No."

"Why not?"

"I'm not some artist girl. I'm a cheerleader."

"I won't show it to anyone else."

"Don't care."

"Please?"

"No."

"I'll tell everyone that you slept with me, then broke up with me," I say. She raised an eyebrow.

"You'll also say that I was better than Britt."

"Brittany? Who's Britt? After such a night, I don't even remember her!" I say, laughing.

She gives a less sarcastic half smile. "Fine." She takes the pencil and sketchpad. "Don't move."

I obey, and try to stay still for about thirty minutes while she sketches and draws, her tongue slightly sticking out of her mouth while she was doing it.

"Done?"

"Almost...there." She hands me the drawing.

And...

I just stare at it for two whole minutes, just staring.

"Oh...oh my." It's...amazing. She took every detail from me. It looks like it could just pop right out of the picture it's so realistic. "You're...you're..."

"I'm what?"

"You're gorgeous."

"I know that."

"No, not like that. I mean, you're pretty, but this drawing is gorgeous."

"You're just saying that because it's a drawing of yourself."

I laugh. "Maybe so. But that doesn't take away the fact that you are an amazing artist."

Santana shrugged. "I don't want to be a smelly artist. I'm fine being a slutty teenager."

I stare deeply into her eyes. "That's a lie, and you know it."

She squirms. "No it's not."

"Santana?"

"You're an amazing artist."

"No. I'm not supposed to be."

"So?"

"So?"

"Santana. You are an amazing artist."

"T-t-t-thank you."

"You're welcome."

I put the drawing in my backpack, promising it'll be with me forever.

(Santana's POV)

I lie on my bed that night, doing a sketch dump. Just doodling. I growl to myself, and tear the page out. I start over again. But for some reason, I can't stop doodling the cripple. His glasses, the wheelchair, his eyes...

Her phone rings. She picks it up.

"Hello?"

"Hey, babe. It's Puck."

Oh. "Oh, hey."

"I'm feeling cold. Wanna come over and warm my bed?" he asks. I sigh.

"Yeah, of course." That's who I am, right? A slutty teenager.

"See you soon."

(Artie's POV)

I was sitting and playing WoW on his comp, when he got an IM ping from Tina.

**XxTinaAsianVampXx**:**Hey artie. Havent talked 2 a while. Kinda miss our weird convos. **

I sigh.

**SuperGeek:Oh, hello Tina. Yeah, I guess we just kind of drifted. **

**XxTinaAsianVampXx: Yeah. We should still be friends. **

**SuperGeek: Yeah. **

This is what I wanted. For Tina to want me again. I've become badass, being on football and all. But...

**SuperGeek is offline.**

~Later~

**SuperGeek: Don't worry, I told everyone we slept together. **

**Cheeriosssantana: Good, cripple. Don't want people to think the truth.**

**SuperGeek: You're a great artist!" **

**Cheeriosssantana: I hate you. **

I smile at that confession of hate. I don't know why, but it feels like I'm special, knowing the real Santana.

(Santana's POV)

_I'm fine with being a slutty teenager. _

_That's a lie, and you know it. _

He's too right for his own good. This Artie Abrams,otherwise known as Cripple, knew too much for his own good.

Mister Artie Abrams knew the real her. The part of her she longed and hated.

She just wished she knew the real her.


	5. Chapter 5: Messsaging Dinosaurs

A/N: Nothing much to say. I'm pleased with how this is going. If you couldn't tell: SuperGeek-Artie Cheeriossantana-Santana.

**_SuperGeek is online_**

_**Cheeriossantana is online**_

**Cheeriosssantana: I saw Britt today.**

**SuperGeek: Oh? Don't you always see her?**

**Cheeriosssantana: Yeah. But today she was in the park, while I was taking my little brother. She was holding a little bird. **

**SuperGeek: And?**

**Cheeriossantana: I went up 2 her and I asked her "what are you doing? Put that down!" she looked up at me, and she was like,"It has a broken wing! It's handihat!" I corrected her 'handicapped' **

**SuperGeek: Is this going where I think it is...**

**Cheeriosssantana: yeah. I asked her 'so? Let it die'. Britt's lower lip startedd quivering and she said,"But I like handcapped things..." **

**SuperGeek: Dude! **

**Cheeriosssantana: I know. Cripple, you have toget back 2gether with her.**

**SuperGeek: Santana, no. I can't. Not like that. It was just...no real. **

**Cheeriosssantana: So?**

**SuperGeek: Would that really be a solution? If we got together, then all that would happen is we would be happy for a while, then Britt would get bored and find a new toy. **

**Cheeriosssantana: But I can't stand her like this.**

**SuperGeek: I know, santa. **

**Cheeriosssantana: Santa?**

**SuperGeek: Lol, I thought of that yesterday. **

**Cheeriosssantana: Dork. **

**SuperGeek: No, geek. SuperGeek.**

**Cheeriosssantana: :P The first star wars movie is on ABC.**

**SuperGeek: What do you mean by the first one? The real first or the crap first?**

**Cheeriosssantana: The real one. Episode IV. I try to pretend I, II, and III never happened. **

**SuperGeek: Seems like slut cheerleader good artist gets her geek on.**

**Cheeriosssantana: Only with star wars! Star Trek and stargate and battlestar and star craft didn't work out for me. **

**SuperGeek: Dude, star trek is awesome, yo. :B**

**Cheeriosssantana: Hahaha. **

**SuperGeek: Hold on, incoming call. **

(Artie's POV)

It was Kurt. What? I flip it open.

"Kurt?" I ask.

"Hey, Artie." He was probably crying. If you're shocked that me and him are friends, then you probably don't know that we met a long time ago when I was having physical therapy at the hospital. He was there also, while his mom was having a mammogram. And, well, you know the rest.

"Dude, what's up?"

**Cheeriosssantana: who is it?**

**SuperGeek: Kurt. **

**Cheeriosssantana: Planning a make out session?**

"That stupid football player kissed me," Kurt said.

"Which one? There's two that always pick on you."

"White one."

"That guy is so haywire."

**SuperGeek: Shut up. He's traumatized because a footba- **I erase that. I couldn't tell Santana that. I rewrite it: **Shut up. He's just bullied all the time. **

**Cheeriosssantana: I know. It may not seem like it, but all of the cheerios really hate how those guys treat him.**

**SuperGeek: Really? **

"Artie?" Kurt asked. "You seem distracted."

"Oh, sorry, Kurt. Don't get mad, but I'm PMing Santana."

"What?" Kurt screeched. You could hear the phone drop, and it getting scooped up. "Sorry. I was just surpirised. You guys hardly even make eye contact."

**Cheeriosssantana: Duh. Don't you know girls at all? They think that gays and slash and yaoi and all is really hot. Like how guys think lesbians r hot. **

**SuperGeek: Why don't you tell the football players that? **

**Cheeriosssantana: Artie, you're a guy. You're on the football team. You don't need to listen to a girl. Guys are 'superior'. **

**SuperGeek: Didn't know you were a feminist. **

"Yeah. I had coffee with her, and..."

"You had sex?" Kurt asked. "Please tell me you guys didn't have sex."

I sighed, and looked at the picture of myself that Santa had drawn. He remembered his deal.

"Yeah, we did," I lied. "She was better than Brittany."

"Manwhore!" Kurt joked.

**Cheeriosssantana: Didn't know you were an ally for gay rights.**

**SuperGeek: Never said I was. But I know Kurt. I know how good of a guy he is. **

**Cheeriosssantana: I don't see you guys talk that much.**

**SuperGeek: We talk sometimes. But I knew him when we were kids. **

**Cheeriosssantana: OoooOOooOOooo I hear a story going on!**

**SuperGeek: Haha. Fine. I'll tell you. *violin music* It was about 6months after the...accident...and I was having physical therapy. I was practicing moving around in my wheelchair when I went by the little play area. Little Kurt was there, in a coat with brass buttons. Just as fancy. He was playing with toy dinosaurs and barbies. When I asked him why he was here, he didn't stare at my wheelchair like all the other kids did. He just said, "My moms getting a mammalgram."**

**Cheeriosssantana: Mammalgram?**

**SuperGeek: I assume he meant mammogram. **

**Cheeriosssantana: Kurt's mom had breast cancer?**

**SuperGeek: Yeah. But no one knew that yet. **

**Cheeriosssantana: Oh. Go on.**

**SuperGeek: Okay. Well, I started playing dinosaurs with him, until her mom came out with a smile, and took Kurt home. I never got his name, and I didn't think it would matter. It's not like I would see him again.**

**Cheeriossantana: Rawr! Dinos! Never pegged either of you as DINOLOVERS! RAWR!**

**SuperGeek: Rawr. **

"What are you talking to her about?" Kurt asked.

"How we met," I said with a laugh.

"Dinosaurs brought us together!"

**Cheeriosssantana: That's a sweet story. **

**SuperGeek: Yeah. I guess. **

**Cheeriosssantana: I know we met through glee, but I do remember when I first saw you.**

**SuperGeek: Oh, please, bless me with the tale.**

**Cheeriosssantana: Okay, so you were being put in a port-a-potty, and I was on the field cheering. I thought 'hey, look, a loser cripple in the port.' But then Britt asked,'How's he gonna get out?' no one knew. **

**SuperGeek: Janitor. **

**Cheeriosssantana: Wow. Loser.**

**SuperGeek: Shuuuuuut up. **

"Well, I'll leave you to your lover," Kurt said.

"I'll leave you to fantasize about your CORAGEOUS NEW JUST FRIEND!" I say. I only met Blaine once, and he was okay, but he reminded me of the kid from A Very Potter Musical.

**Cheeriosssantana: I gtg, britt needs help with her english. **

**SuperGeek: Good**

**Cheeriosssantana is offline.**

**SuperGeek: Bye. **


	6. Chapter 6: Denial Land Is Sweet

**A/N: In my own little world, Artie would be with Santana, Mike would be with Santana, Sam would go with Blaine, Kurt would fall in love with Matt, Finn and Rachel would go away forever and be in love and crap, Puck would be in love with Tina, but unrequited. Brittany is just amazing and doesn't need a guy. Oh yeah! And Quinn. She doesn't need no man!**

**Also, in this chap there's a POV you're not used to!**

**(No POV)**

Two weeks passed. Artie and Santana acted like they had a one night stand in school. Then just like before.

But not outside of school. They got coffee. Santana tried to teach clumsy Artie how to draw. He was no Picasso. But they were having...fun? There was no sexual tension, no pity, no obligation. They were just..friends. Not friends. That's a little far. But it was like they were different people. Santana was deep and thoughtful and energetic. Artie was honest and silly and introspective. And they both liked the other's true self.

**(Santana POV)**

I'm happy. That hasn't happened in a long time. Not just agog and excited in glee, but...happy. That's what I think as I stare up at my ceiling on my bed. I can't stop smiling. What is up with me? It's like I'm sniffing glue. Maybe it's because of an email I got from Artie. But that can't be possible.

_to: _

_from: _

**Dear Santana. Wait. No. Cross that.**

**Yo, Santa! **

**Better. But, Artie if you want to get technical. I have two tickets to the**

**Circus! Art Dancing show in Columbus in two weeks. I know that sounds weird, but it's this thing where mimes juggle and paint while dancing? Who knows. The tix were free because I'm friends with the set up guy. So, yeah. You want to go? I'd tell everyone that we went to vegas to have a wild sex romp and tons of orgies. Come on! It'll be fun! **

**-Artie**

I paced back and forth, wondering if I should go. That's when my phone rang.

"Hello?" I answer.

"Hi, this is Purses and Pink." Male voice. "I'm here to tell you that YOU'RE IN LOVE WITH ONE OF MY BEST FRIENDS."

"...Who is this?" I ask.

"Kurt Hummel. Don't act like you didn't know that."

"I'm not in love with Artie."

(Kurt's POV)

Yeah. Right. I totally believe her. NOT. "That's really believable Santana. Okay, let's make a little list together."

She sighs. I ignore her. "I catch you staring at him in Trig. If you haven't noticed, I'm in your class. In fact, I'm convinced that you don't even know anyone else is in that class except him. I see you guys making secret plans when you think no one is watching. But when my gay buddy doesn't go to the same school, I watch a lot more than talk. Artie sometimes slips up when he's making excuses not to hang out. 'Oh I have to hand out with San...santa! Yep, I have to write my xmas cards' is the lamest save I've ever heard.

"Sometimes I see you with Puck, and ever since you and Artie had that 'one night stand', which I totally don't believe happened by the way, you've looked really bored with Puck. You sigh constantly, and always look around, like you're looking for someone. But you're looking slightly down, below normal height, so you're either looking for a leprechaun, or a really sweet guy in a wheelchair. I think we're on number 5 on 'Santana's In Love With Artie And Here's Why' list."

I'm finally done with my rant/explanation. There's silence on the other line. "Dude. Stalker. You're just imagining all of that," Santana says. I sigh.

"You're in more denial than Rachel is about her hideous wardrobe. Can't you just, have a crush on the guy? It doesn't have to mean anything. You don't have to go out. You could just, have a crush! Ever just liked a boy?"

"No. I just think they're hot then sleep with them."

"But you're having quasi non dates with Artie, and probably PMing all the time. Any plans with him?"

I can almost hear Santana suck in her breath. I was right on target. "Yeah. He invited me to this show in Columbia." I giggle, like I'm in elementary, and I automatically know exactly what's going on.

"You actually effing love him!" I squeal.

"What?"

"I mean, I was just guessing. You know, inferring? But...oh em gee! You're excited about your date to that show-"

"Not a date."

"-and you're falling for Artie!" I almost fall back on the floor with my revelation. I really have to calm down when I'm on the phone. "Santana, you have a crush on one geeky guy in glasses."

(Santana POV)

Suddenly the room is really hot, stuffy, and claustrophobic. I breath really hard and heavily. Oh god. No. It can't be. I am not in love with Artie Abrams. No. No! I am Santana Lopez, slut cheerleader extraordinaire! Slept with everyone! Great singer! Great ass! Not someone who actually has a crush! Nonononoonononononononono-

"Santana?" Kurt said.

I sniffle. "Kurt, I have a crush on cripple."

**A/N2: I know, short chapter. But you don't care! Santana confessed! I know it seemed fast, but don't worry, I have a plan! And did you expect Santana, or Artie, to be the one who found out their feelings first? **


	7. Chapter 7: Operation Regret

**A/N: Go away from the computer for 4 days, and come back with 23 new email messages. ALL FROM . Mostly favorites for my two newest oneshots, but whatev. But don't you hate it when people Story Alert a one shot? Sigh. And while I was driving, I was half thinking about what I should do for this fic. Then I saw a restaurant called 'Santana's Bar and Grill!' Not kidding. It creeped me out. Also, I need to know: what is AU? There are a bunch of terms a learned here, but AU is still a mystery. Explain?**

**STOP ONLY ALERTING THIS AND NOT REVIEWING! Just a quick comment is nice!**

(Santana's POV)

I realized what I had to do during math class today. I caught myself staring at Artie again, and I thought: I have to not like him. Just like, fall out of like with him. Hate him would be best. But how? I remember the email he sent me. The mime painter dancer thing-y. I can't go to that. What if I fall even more for him? Nope, I just have to be mean. I have to not go. Make him hate me, so then it's easier to hate him. I'll go even farther than just not going. A smile forms on my lips. I'm going back to the good old me again. Yeah, that'll work.

_Ping!_ My phone alerts me that I have a new text from Artie. I shouldn't open it. I can't resist.

**From: Cripple (10:03AM)**

**Teacher scratches his thing when someone coughs. Could do a scientific experiment on it. Or...not. **

I look up at the teacher, and do a fake cough. His hand automatically goes down...I snort. Loudly. The teacher whips his head around, and I quickly snap my phone shut. The students all stare at me momentarily. Artie too, and he's grinning like crazy. My phone pings again, but it's not from Artie.

**From: Gay Kid Kurt (10:05AM) **I'm very creative with my contact names.

**Santana and Artie, sittin' in a tree...K-I-S-S-I-N-G.**

I stick my tongue out at him and flip him off under the desk. . Then I look back at the board. And sigh. This is going to be a long few weeks until I undo this whole thing.

(Artie's POV)

After Santana's little cough, I can't wipe that smirk from my face. It's like we're in elementary school, with inside jokes and pranks. Santana unintentionally proves my point when I catch her sticking her tongue out at Kurt. I smile, and turn back to my notes. She's really nice. Santana. I mean, she calls me cripple and flips me off and is a total bitch to everyone. But to people who are really having a problem, she helps out. Like when Becky fell and did a face plant into a puddle. I saw her clean her up. Or when Matt was totally stressing out about being g-...ahem...that's a little private, but she gave him a pep talk, and he was more confident. He even got a solo the other day. So when I hang out with her, she makes me happy. Happier than Tina ever made me when we were friends. With Tina, I always had to impress her, or make her think I'm cooler. Santana let's me be myself, and I let her be herself.

It's a good friendship.

Yeah. Friendship.

(Mr. Schue's POV)

I'm in my office, shuffling through grading. Brittany, the Spanish word for 'pencil isn't 'pencila'. I still put a smiley face sticker on her paper. The key to teaching Brittany isn't telling her she's wrong, it's reminding her what's right.

"Knock, knock." A voice came from his door. I didn't look up.

"Hello, Kurt. I know, Rachel got the solo today. But tomorrow, I'm giving Tina and Matt some spotlight time, so no complaints. Everyone get's a turn."

"Am I really that predictable?" he asks, taking a chair and putting down his designer bag. "I guess I'm not, because I have something else to speak about."

This time I look up. Kurt gives a knowing, satisfied, smirk, now that I have his attention. I sigh. "And the topic for this conversation is...?"

"Santana and Artie." Oh, god. He's playing matchmaker again. Now I have to prepare to stop some dinner plans involving secret invitations to those two, and when they arrive, not knowing that the other one is there. He's probably already chosen the appetizers.

"I know you think that everyone deserves someone, but this match isn't right. They're too different, and Artie is hung up over Tina. Santana is still with Puck. No matchmaking."

Kurt huffed, blowing a stray lock out of his forehead. "That's the thing. They're already together!"

If I was eating something, I would've choked on it. "What?"

He sighed. "Well, not technically '_together' _if you want to get technical. But they are forming this secret friendship that only I know." he paused. "And, you, now, I guess."

"Yeah. Why exactly are you telling me this?"

"Because they need to open their eyes and realize that they are totally falling for each other!" he practically jumped out of his chair. For such a tiny, pale boy, he certainly had more passion than I had in my left pinky. I blinked, frozen in my seat. He took three deep breaths, and sat back down. "And I need your help in pushing them together."

I sigh, deeper this time. "Kurt. Stay out of people's business. If Artie and Santana are actually falling in love, then they have to come with that on their own terms."

"But-"

"No buts."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Fine. BUT. You're pairing them up if we ever do duets."

"Yes sir."

A voice came over the intercom: "William, your hair looks like it got curled by a bunch of lesbian Japenese princesses with a strange sex drive for pillows. That is all."

Kurt's eyes boggled for a minute, then he cleared his throat. "Uh, looks like you're busy. Gotta go."

I nod at him, and listen to Figgins try to wrestle his precious mic from Sue.

(Santana's POV)

Okay. Time to put Step 1 of Operation DeWheels into action.

"Hey, Puckasaurus," I say flirtatiously when he saunters past my locker. He pauses.

"Sup, babe?"

"I was wondering..." I twirl an absent lock of hair. "you wanna go on a date with me? We haven't been on one for a while."

He takes a step closer to me. "What were you thinking?"

"Well, my cousin is performing in this mime dancing painting thing," I lie. He groans.

"That sounds gay."

"It is. But what we'll do after-wards isn't," I whisper. He fist pumps.

"Yes! When is it?"

"Two weeks from now. I'm buying the tickets," I say. He walks off triumphantly. And I walk to my next class.

Operation DeWheels is going perfectly. I am going back to my old, slutty, self.

I think of how Artie's face will be when he sees me with Puck there.

…

And I feel a little sick.


	8. Chapter 8: Spying, A Way To Feel Awful

**A/N: Surprise! After I saw the newest episode, I just had to update with a short chapter. Artie. Oh my god, I cried out when Karaofsky(how the hell do you spell his name?)pushed him over. Santana in glee isn't my Santana. So whatever she does in later episodes you shouldn't judge this one on. Ever. Unless Ryan Murphy is all like, "Santana, you be with Artie!" I hope he doesn't do that. He'd screw it up. This may seem like a Artie/Kurt friendship centered scene, but it really does have something to do with the plot. I think?**

**Brittany is not with Artie in my version. **

**Dude. Mike Chang is badass. I might just give him a cameo because of that scene. **

**Thanks to Average Everyday Sane Pyscho. Oohhhhhh. Alternate Universe. Got it. **

(Artie POV) 

"Dude, wait up." I wheel after Kurt, leaving Cedes and the gang gawking behind me.

He turns around. Cheek tear stained. "Artie...I'm gonna miss you."

"You can't leave! You're my only guy friend. I used to be buddies with Mike, but now that he's dating Tina, it just kind of fizzled. Who am I going to play dinos with?" I ask.

"There's always the weekends, Artie," he says. I sigh.

"Damn. You can't do this to me."

Kurt kneeled down to my level, and I know he's gonna talk serious. "Artie. Thank you. Thank you for standing up for me. Thanks for being my friend. Thank you for not being a homophobe. Thank you for coming to my mother's funeral. Thank you for playing dinosaurs with me."

"You're gonna make me cry..."

Kurt pointed a finger at me, "Now you listen here. This isn't a goodbye forever, and you know that. We'll see eachother, and I promise we'll hang out. Meanwhile, kick my ass at sectionals. Then you open up your eyes and realize that you and Santana are in love. You guys go out and be a couple and make me proud. Burn one of your sweater vests for me. Then go out and buy a goofy tie, take pictures, and post it on Facebook." I laugh, and another tear rolls down Kurt's cheek.

"Okay, man." I knuckle pound him. "But Santana and I aren't in love. She told me at lunch that she wasn't going to this show I was going to take her to."

Kurt patted his shoulder. "She'll come around. But if you want, I'll go to that show, and afterwards we'll get ice cream and go to the arcade."

"Sounds like a plan."

(Santana POV)

I get up a few seconds later, and say I have to go pee. Then I eavesdrop on Kurt's conversation with Artie. "_Then you open up your eyes and realize that you and Santana are in love." "But Santana and I aren't in love. She told me at lunch that she wasn't going to this show I was going to take her to."_

My breath gets caught in my lungs. Of course we weren't in love. I was going to make him hate me when he gets to that mime show. Hate. That'll make me feel better.


	9. Chapter 9: Don't Look At Me

**A/N: I know. It's been a while. I purposefully waited until after I saw "Special Education" to write this. Weird name for an episode. I won't give anything away, since that's mean, but I will say this: 1) Watch the sectionals performance, and the other performance, and you'll see Artie dancing and/or smiling with Santana. 2) Tina was good. I read reviews on Avclub(dot)com and they didn't mention her. She was fantastic. Also, go to that website and look at the picture they have for the review of that episode. Smile at who's in the background.**

(Santana's POV)

I'm fine. If you say I'm not, and that I'm dreading the show Puck and I are going to...well...screw you. I hate you.

The ticket guy or whatever smiles at us while checking our tickets.

"You guys have fun," he says. I smile back. His name tag says 'Jeff'.

"Thanks, Jeff," I say.

There are seats to sit on while watching it. Classy. No beer spills in sight. Puck grins at me. I grin back. Just forget about Artie.

(Artie's POV)

"Hey, dude!" I say, happy to see my best friend.

"Why, hello Artie," Kurt says, high fiving me. We're both grinning.

"How's Dalton?"

He snorted. "Meh."

"Oh no!" I say. "You've found another nerdy cripple, haven't you? One who can quote Star Wars better than me!" My mock horror makes us both giggle like a couple of teenage girls.

"Ready for some...mime...painter...dancers?" Kurt asked.

"Yeah, let's hit it!"

We pull up in the parkinglot and Kurt gets me situated in my chair. As we wheel in, the ticket person, named Jeff, smiles at us.

"Have fun," he says.

"Thanks, Jeff," I say back. He raises an eyebrow.

"Second time that's been said to me..."

Kurt nods at him, and we go inside. As soon as Jeff is out of ear shot, Kurt leans down.

"That ticket guy was seriously hot!" he whispers.

"What?"

"Did you see him? Green eyes...I love green eyes." He gets this far off look, and I know he's taking a ride down gay lane.

"I'm more of a brown eyed person," I say. Kurt snaps back into reality.

"Like, the brown eyes of a particular Latino girl who can absolutely belt it on stage?" Kurt asks.

I don't answer that question. We go into the handicapped section of the theater. The lights flicker, and everyone is quiet. The dancers come out on stage with their paintbrushes.

I miss Santana.

(Santana's POV)

Puck is bored out of his mind by minute two. He's asleep. Thank god he doesn't snore. Me? I'm engrossed in this. It's interesting as hell, not kidding. They make such beautiful pictures, and are really good dancers. Maybe not as good as Britt or Other Asian, but better than me.

That's why I'm surprised for a few seconds when I see Artie in the handicapped section. I was so interested in the show that I forgot that I came to see it for different reasons. Now I'm kinda hoping he doesn't see me.

I slowly jerk Puck awake. He mumbles something about Jews, then looks up at me.

"Come on, we're leaving!" I whisper. He nods. Maybe I can get out of here without Artie seeing...

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, IT IS NOW TIME FOR INTERMISSION!" The announcement...announces. I curse in Spanish. Everyone stampedes out, and I'm left behind trying to find Puck. He grabs me and pulls me to sit down so we can wait for the crowd to pass. When everyone's gone, I look around the empty theater.

Well, almost empty.

Artie's with Kurt, and their trying to move out.

They're going to look up. I can sense it.

Better now than never.

I pull Puck's face to mine, showing him I want to have a serious make out session. He accepts eagerly, and battles my tongue with his.

_Forget Artie, just forget. Puck. Puck. _

(Artie's POV)

We decide it's best for us to wait out the swarm of people before trying to maneuver to the lobby.

"Oh, no..." Kurt whispers. I raise an eyebrow, and follow his line of sight.

Oh.

Santana and Puck.

Kissing.

Making out.

Being at the same show.

Kurt voices my thoughts.

"You...you...BITCH!" he yells, and it echoes throughout.

Santana and Puck jolt apart.

"What are you doing here, Hummel?" Puck asks, confused.

"What am I doing here? WHAT AM _I_ DOING HERE? I'M GOING TO THE SHOW WITH ARTIE, BECAUSE SANTANA HERE SAID NO TO HIM!"

Puck looks over to Santana. "What? You said you had a cousin in this show."

"Well...I...I..."

Puck and Santana come down to the floor, same ground as Kurt and I.

Kurt gaped at her. "I can't believe this! You took Puck to the show that Artie specifically invited you to, then you just suck face like that, just to be a hardcore, heartless, bitch!"

"Leaving..." Puck said quickly, and bolted towards the exit.

I rolled forward, "Kurt..."

Kurt spun around to face me. "She can't do this to you!"

"Kurt, let me fight my own battles. Wait in the car."

Kurt stomped his foot.

"Listen to your wife, Hummel," Santana spat. Kurt looked like he wanted to slap her, but instead grumbled something and marched away.

It was my turn.

(Santana's POV)

Kurt was the best friend Artie could ever have. I hope he knows that.

Artie hates me now.

Good.

That was the plan.

He wheels towards me, and stops when he deems it close enough.

"You know, Santana," he begins calmly, "over the past couple of weeks, I convinced myself that I knew the real you. The art, the smiles, the jokes, the all around good girl. It was an act, wasn't it? But I was right, though. I know the real you. I'm looking right at her. The cold, heartless girl who just raises to break. I had really liked you Santana. Maybe even more than a friend."

I meet his eyes. _Really? _I ask without speaking.

"But now, I realize that you're a cruel, awful, well, bitch."

I start to cry. I never cry. The tears sting my cheeks as the flow, and I feel anger rising through me.

"I hate you too!" I scream, and I run towards the exit, pushing Artie out of his wheelchair on the way.

I hate myself even more.


	10. Chapter 10: Outside Looking Inward

**A/N: I'm crying. I never cry. I especially do not cry at shows. But it's tears of joy. At the very end. At Artie. Not going to give anything away. But...oh my god. This is why: Artie's my favorite character. Besides Kurt. If he can make me cry, then...well...bravo.**

(Artie's POV)

I try to ignore Kurt's enraged screaming in the car about how exactly he is going to kill Santana. I just wanted to get home.

"Sorry she's such a bitch, Artie," Kurt said.

"It's okay."

I lie in bed.

I close my eyes.

Numb.

(Santana's POV)

I'm crying. Tears started and they won't stop. I knew I should've gotten that surgery to remove my tear ducts, just like Sue did. For every tear, I curse Artie. Screw him. Screw him for making me feel this way. I feel like shit. I sit there on my floor, just crying.

"Santana, hon? Are you okay?" My mom asked from outside my bedroom door.

"I'm fine, ma." She's a bigger slut than me. But my ma still knows she's my ma.

"Did Puck say you were fat or something?"

"No, ma."

The door slowly creeks open. Ma sees my terrible, gross face. She's sighs.

"Oh, honey," she coos. She goes into my bathroom, and wets a washcloth. She kneels down in front of me, and presses the washcloth against my eyes. The water is warm. She hums a lullaby song while she works, and squeezes my hand. It's juvenile, and I feel like a little kid. Exactly what I need.

"Ma..." I whisper. And I burst into tears again.

"You want to tell me now?" She asks after I've stopped. I nod, and she does the washcloth thing again.

"It's about a boy..."

"Isn't it always?" she sighs.

"Yeah. But this isn't about sex or dating. It's about..." I gulp. "love."

She looks started. "Santana, hon, the L word? This must be one hell of a boy."

I look off in the distance. "Yeah. He is. He asks if you're okay, and smiles when you smile, and says you're beautiful, not sexy. He sings and he has this twinkle in his eye..."

"Oh, dear. You are in love, hm?" she asks.

"I think so."

"Well," Ma says, "I hope you know what you're doing."

"No. I'm an idiot. I was a total bitch to him, and now he hates me."

"Well. Every love story isn't the same. You never know." She gets up, smooths down my hair, then leaves.

After she's gone, I realize I never mentioned once that Artie's in a wheelchair.

(Brittany's POV)

I'm teaching my dance class today. Every Saturday. Or maybe it's Sunday. They both have the s sound. Anyways, I teach little kids ballet and hip hop. There's this boy named Nathan who can point his toe really good and reminds me of Kurt. I giggle whenever I see him. But I really like this girl named Lalia. She's the same color of Santana, and always flips her pony tail.

My teacher pays me twenty dollars per class. I put it in my piggy bank. I'm saving it, but I don't know what I want.

After class, I pack up my bag, and drink some water. But outside the window, I see Artie. He's rolling down the street looking really sad. I sprint out the door, catching up to him.

"Artie!" I call out. He stops. I hug him, and almost kiss him, but I remember we're not boyfriend girlfriend anymore. Mike is. He's inside teaching, too.

"Hi, Britt," he says.

"Why do you look so sad?" I ask.

"Santana."

"What'd she do?" I ask, shocked. Santana's so nice.

"She broke my heart." He said it really quiet, in a whisper.

"That's weird. She never breaks hearts. I mean, she sleeps with them, then leaves, but that's not breaking hearts. Did you sleep with her?"

"No."

"Well that's even odder." I think. Usually I think better when I'm hugging my hamster. "She's probably in love with you!" I shout.

Artie raises an eyebrow. "No, she's not."

"I may be a dolt, but I'm smart with love stuff. Santana is in love with you, because she wouldn't bother with not sleeping with you, but still hanging out with you, and then just break your heart. She's probably scared."

"Of what?"

I shrug. "I don't know. But trust me. I'm an expert."

Artie smiles. "Thanks, Britt."

"No problem. But I have to get back home. My class has a recital in a week."

"Am I invited?"

"Always."

(Santana's POV)

New plan. Forget the old one. It was shit.

The plan: Win Artie back.

But how?

Sing to him? Nah, too Berry style. Ugh.

Strip out of my clothes in front of him? Nope, he's too pure. (Note, add that to the list of 'Why I Love A Cripple'.)

I go into the living room. My ma and her new boyfriend, and my little bro Keith, are decorating the tree.

That's it!


	11. Chapter 11: Don't Really Care

**A/N: I honestly forgot about this fic for the past week...:D I love it, and I love you guys, but I got to the climax of my other fic and was like "FOCUS!" on that one so...SORRY! But I have plans. I swear.**

**And I'm pretty sure (don't quote me on this) that the next few chapters will be in Artie's POV.**

(Artie's POV)

And of course, the whole school knew about it the instant I rolled in on Monday. Whispered glances. Awkward hellos. Quinn squeezed my shoulder in English. I didn't want the pity. Kurt sent me hourly texts. I never responded. I have never felt so alone. Santana was absent today, so at least that spared me the awful confrontation that was sure to ensue.

"I heard about Santana," Tina said in glee.

"I'm sure you did."

"It really sucks what she did to you."

"Maybe you two can compare notes!" I snap. I instantly feel guilty, but who cares? I look away, and try to focus on Schue's drabble.

Rachel gives me sympathetic looks. I pointedly stare at something else.

Why is everyone feel so goddamn sorry for me?

The ride home in my dad's van was silent. He never said a word when I came home on Saturday. He cooks. He makes lasagna and brownies and pie. People joke that he'd make the perfect housewife, and we always laugh awkwardly when they do. My dad only got so good at cooking because Mom died. He cooked to feed us, and to compensate for his depression. Yeah, life sucks. Join the party, we're serving fruit punch and bullets.

Man, maybe Tina and I should have a goth fest together.

Anyways.

I push my glasses further up on my nose, and open the door to my room.

I froze when I saw what was in my room, with a sparkling gold bow wrapped around.

A Gibson Full Size Silk&Steel-String Acoustic Guitar with a Polyester finish.

The kind I've been asking for since the beginning of time.

I reach out and caress it with my fingertips gently.

I shiver with delight.

Then I squeal like a girl.

"THANKS DAD!" I yell.

"For what?" he shouts back.

"The guitar that's standing in the middle of my room!"

"What guitar?" he asks, coming in.

"That one," I say, pointing. He gapes at it.

"Is that a Gibson?"

"Yup."

He strokes the neck. "I didn't get this for you."

I raised an eyebrow. "Then who did?"

He looks at the back, and finds a tag attatched to a string.

"What does it say?" I ask.

"Well, it's folded in half and says: To Artie. I'm not going to read what it says inside." My dad respects privacy. He whistles in appreciation at it one more time, then leaves the room, closing the door behind him.

I expect the inside of the note to say something like 'marry christmas from auntie' or something.

Instead it only has one sentence.

'_On the first day of christmas, my true love gave to me...'_

Mysterious.

_-Later-_

When people asked about my guitar later in glee, I just told them it was a Christmas gift. Santana was in math today, but not in glee. Not that I cared. I was obsessed with my present, though. It played like an angel, and it even had an attachment that could secure it to my wheelchair. Best gift ever!

"Artie, I know you are in love with that guitar," Mr. Schue starts. "So why don't you sing us a song?"

A solo?

Really?

"YES."

_-Even More Later-_

I call Kurt when I get home, lying on my bed.

"Merry Christmas, dude!" I say.

"Artie! Hi! Guess what?"

"What?"

"No, you have to guess."

I sigh, grinning. "Blaine just kissed you."

"I wish! But I'll just tell you since you're a horrible guesser. I got you a present!"

"Is it a gibson guitar? Cuz I already have one."

"What? No! It's just something but you won't get it until I visit you guys." I'm about to speak, but he interrupts me with, "Oh yeah, and I know you didn't get me a gift because you're so scatterbrained, so I stole twenty bucks from your wallet while you were in my car, and got myself something from Bath & Body Works."

I should be furious for his kleptomaniac style, but I just laugh. "Thanks, you know me so well."

"Yup!" Then his voice get's low an secretive. "Have you seen Santana lately?"

She hasn't been on my mind lately. "Not really."

"Good. Because if she even ATTEMPTS to talk to you, her throat is broken in half!"

"You're my knight in shining armor."

"Damn straight."

I look at the clock. Almost midnight. "Got to go Kurt, I have volunteer work in the morning."

"Tutoring Puck?"

"Yeah, at 6am. He never has any other time."

"Sorry, man. Goodnight."

"Night."

I turn off the light, and look up the ceiling.

"What?" I whisper, and put my glasses back on.

On my ceiling are two glow in the dark star stickers.

The second day of Christmas?


	12. Chapter 12: A Certain Romance Now

**A/N: I'M GOING TO BE REALLY ANNOYING: REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!**

**THE MORE YOU REVIEW THE FASTER I UPDATE.**

**These chapters are really just showing how Artie's now just dealing with life. **

The entire mass of McKinley high gawked simultaneously at Santana the next day.

She was wearing her hair down, brushed and in a headband.

Jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt.

Converse.

Minimal makeup.

She didn't look me in the eye as she passed me in the hallway.

I looked after her, trying to ignore the nagging feeling inside of me.

Was she trying to tell me something?

Quinn gave me a puzzled glance.

"Do you have something to do with this?" she asks me.

I shrug. "Why would I?"

"She's barely said anything all week. When Sue told her she was going to be at the bottom of the pyramid, she just nodded. And get this, she told me that I had nice earrings today. It's weird."

I took one more look at the new Santana, who was opening her locker.

I kind of miss her.

Tina keeps trying to talk to me.

Screw that.

In my locker, three paper hearts fluttered out. Then in math, I found four hershey kisses on my desk.

When I got home, I practiced my guitar, a smile on my face.

(Santana's POV)

I hope it's working.

(Artie's POV)

On Thursday, five gold chocolate coins were at the bottom of my bag.

"Hey, have you been giving me...gifts?" I ask Kurt. He said no. I ask Quinn. She shakes her head.

I shrug, and brush it off my head. Maybe I have a stalker.

It's on Friday when things get weird.

It's raining outside, and I'm tuning my guitar in the choir room. Tina walks in.

"Hey, Artie."

I give a gruffled 'hey'.

"Artie, I need to talk to you about something. About us."

I look up from my guitar. "What?"

"T-t-take me back, Artie. Mike isn't as sweet as you were, and I think I might still love you."

Then she kisses me.

I'm so tempted. To wipe away the thoughts of Santana. To go back to last year. When everything was simple.

But I knew that was wrong. Mike was actually okay.

I wasn't one to have an affair.

And...

there was absolutely nothing when I kissed Tina.

That's why I pushed her away with all my force, then wheeled away.

Being the good guy is tough.

But I smiled at the six flowers on my doorstep.

(Santana's POV)

I just can't wait...

(Artie's POV)

After Tina and Mike break up, I decide to be friendlier to Mike.

"Hey," I say to him. He looks up from his locker.

"What do you want?" he asks.

"Nothing. But great dancing today."

Not much. But a start.

Santana walks by then, wearing black paint stained pants. She carries a sketchbook in her arm.

I look after her, longing to say something, anything, to her.

"Sucks, doesn't it?" Mike says.

"Yeah."

_later_

"Mr. Schue? I'd like to sing a song." I haven't heard that voice in over a week. Mr. Schue nods, and Santana Lopez gets up.

_Well oh they might wear classic Reeboks  
Or knackered Converse  
Or tracky bottoms tucked in socks  
But all of that's what the point is not  
The points that's there ain't no romance around there  
And there's the truth that they can't see  
They'd probably like to throw a punch at me  
And if you could only see them, then you would agree  
Agree that there ain't no romance around there_

You know, oh it's a funny thing you know  
We'll tell 'em if you like  
We'll tell 'em all tonight  
They'll never listen  
Because their minds are made up  
And course it's all okay to carry on that way

And over there there's broken bones.  
There's only music, so that there's new ring tones  
And it don't take no Sherlock Holmes  
To see it's a little different around here

Don't get me wrong though, there's boys in bands  
And kids who like to scrap with pool cues in their hands  
And just cause he's had a couple o' cans  
He thinks it's alright to act like a dickhead

Don't you know, oh it's a funny thing you know  
We'll tell em if you like  
We'll tell em all tonight  
They'll never listen  
Because their minds are made up  
And course it's all okay to carry on that way

But I said no!  
Oh no!  
Well you won't get me to go!  
Not anywhere, not anywhere.  
No, I won't go!  
Oh no, no!

Well over there there's friends of mine  
What can I say, I've known 'em for a long long time  
And they might overstep the line  
But i you just cannot get angry in the same way  
No not in the same way  
So not in the same way  
Oh no, oh no no

I'm not sure I know what it's about.

But it's edgy and beautiful.

Just like Santana.

(Santana's POV)

That song? To me, it's about defiance. It's about thumping. It's about romance.

It's how I want to feel.

**A/N2: That song is called A Certain Romance by the Arctic Monkeys. It's a great song, but the Arctic Monkeys are a certain type of music that certain type of people like. The song is complex and I'm sure I got the meaning wrong. You listen to it though, and tell me what you think.**


	13. Chapter 13: Snowflakes

**A/N: I've been making Tina seem really awful in this fanfic, and that isn't what I think about Tina. I love her, and she's one of my favorites. She's just hard to write.**

**Oh, and I was going to wrap this up quicker. Like, 15 chapters total. But then I thought, screw that. This is going to be longer.**

(Artie's POV)

My dad put down the plate of spaghetti, steam still rising. I twirled the noodles around the fork, mind absent from his constant chatter about his life.

"Artie? Are you listening?"

"Yeah."

"Is there something bothering you?"

I shoved a forkful of spaghetti in my mouth. The orangish light in the kitchen made it seem relaxed.

"Girls."

"What about them?"

I sigh. "Nothing. It's just...nothing."

"Well, we need to get some groceries."

"Want me to come with you to the store?"

"If you don't mind."

"Okay."

I love my dad. He tries. But sometimes things get tiring.

I'm leaning that more.

My dad hits the breaks at the stoplight.

Sometimes, in Ohio, it gets icy. The roads get frozen, and makes everything slip.

It makes cars slip.

It causes cars to slide forward into the middle of an intersection when it tries to brake.

And when a car is in the middle of an intersection, things tend to hit it.

Like drunk drivers.

That's how, on a normal night, I got into a car crash. At least I didn't have to worry about being handicapped.

Sometimes, things go in slow motion.

Life inching by.

And then...

I black out.

_It's been a long time. This isn't the first time I've been here. In this state of mind. Unconscious in real life. Blissful in here. But now, I can only hear her laugh. I miss it._

I fade in and out of reality. I hear murmurs.

But somehow,

I finally open my eyes.

And the first thing I see is her face.

Her eyes are wide open and worried, biting her lip. Not noticing that I had woken up.

"It was you, wasn't it?" I whisper. "The twelve days of Christmas."

She looked up at me, eyes brightening, smile forming. "Yeah."

Then I slip into unconsciousness again.

(Santana's POV)

"Did you hear?" Ashley asks me in math.

"What?" I ask, twirling a strand of hair in my fingers.

"The handicapped kid is in the hospital."

A numbing sort of feeling overtook me when I stood up, and walked out of that math class, ignoring the protests from my teacher. Then I took an overpowering sort of feeling as I ran through the hallways, out of the school, and into my car. Then when I entered the hospital, asking for Artie Abrams. Then, somehow, I ended up in room 304, staring at an abnormally pale Artie. The boy who I loved.

His dad came in a few minutes later, slightly surprised to see me there. Then he asked if I wanted some coffee. Yes. Black, cream. Two sugars. After I took a sip, I told him who I was.

"Santana Lopez. Your son is the most amazing person I've ever met."

He chuckles at that. "Yeah, I know. He's special, all right."

"So what happened?"

"Car crash. He broke both of his legs, not really a problem, but got a concussion and some skull fractures. I just got this broken arm." He lifts up his cast for emphasis.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Life happens."

I give a small smile, and stare at the polished tiles at my feet.

"Look, I have to call some people. Can you look after him?" he asks me. I nod, and he's gone.

I worry then.

What if he doesn't wake up?

What if I never get to apologize?

And then...

"It was you wasn't it?" The voice comes from the bed. My head snaps over to Artie, smiling smugly at me. "the twelve days of Christmas."

I could just kiss him right there and then.

But that would be an awkward first kiss, and his dad could walk in any second.

"Yeah," I say instead. And he goes back to sleep.

I grinning like a Cheshire cat.

I knew being myself was worth it.

When it gets to be late, I leave, fully happy.

(Artie's POV)

I can almost hear Kurt's voice now: _You can't just forgive that bitch like that!_ Add in more profanities here and there. I agree with him. I'm not forgiving Santana.

I woke up the next day, with my dad, Kurt, and Mercedes there.

"Hey, sleepyhead," Mercedes said. I gave her a tired 'hello', then looked up at the ceiling.

Taped to the ceiling were seven paper snowflakes.

"Santana did that," Cedes said. She glared at Kurt, because he was, no doubt, going to insult Santana in some way. "Artie, white boy. That girl seems like she's the best thing that's ever happened to you."


	14. Chapter 14: Biting Remarks

**A/N: I'M SORRY. I haven't updated since last fucking year. Sorry, seriously. I have writer's block. And yeah. That's my sorry ass excuse. Love you all!**

(Santana PoV)

Quinn walks in with her Cheerios uniform on, watching me calmly in the uncomfortable hospital chair. Her mood was imperceptible. Was she ticked? Amused? A bitch? I expect her to have some snide comment that I can slap her with.

She just plops on the chair next to me, eyes wistful. Reminding me of softer Preggo-Quinn. She put her chin in her hands, knuckles making dents in her cheek. She blinks often, and ignores me watching her.

"I ought to thank him someday," she says.

"Thank Artie? For what?"

She gives the barest of smiles. "You. You're so changed, but I don't think in the usual bad way a boy changes you. I became badder with Puck. You became gentle. I like it, but I'm not sure if it's right. Like it's not you."

I bring my knees to my chest, shivering at the cold hospital temperature. "I'm still not completely sure. It's like he made me be a half moon. The dark part and the light part, so it's all good."

"Oh god, that's going to be another Twilight book, isn't it?"

"Not if I have anything to do with it."

Then Quinn and I are laughing together; an event that probably made history right there and then.

You happy, Artie? You're making me be friendly to fucking Quinn.

* * *

He still wakes up now and then, but with enormous headaches.

Screaming headaches.

He just starts to scream.

I watch him, tears in my eyes.

"_Help me," _he whispers.

"_I can't_," I mouth back ruefully. The nurses usually whisk in and pump in some morphine, sending him back into dreamland. His dad goes to work a lot, and I go to school. It's not neglectful; whenever Artie is awake and not screaming, he insists that he's "done it before, and can handle it again'. He still refuses to talk to me besides pleading for help, and it kills me on the inside. I guess what I did was pretty shitty. But the past is the past, right?

"No," Kurt tells me when I ask. "In Artie's fragile, fucked-up mind, it's kinda the most sucky thing that's happened recently, so it's in the present."

"What about the car crash? That's more present, and way more sucky."

Kurt shrugs. "Not necessarily. The car crash, in a sick way, was the norm. Having a girl smash his heart? Also normal. But having a girl purposefully try to twist his emotions just out of disgust out of having slight feelings for him? Unacceptable."

"Well, I'm sure you're certainly not helping him forgive me," I grumble. He gives me a condescending smile.

"I'm unbiased, but I may have slipped in a few colorful insults."

I give him my signature middle finger, the first time it's seen the light in weeks.

It's a Saturday night, and instead of at a party, I'm sitting on the edge of Artie's bed, playing solitaire. The lonely heart's game. Artie's breathing is slow and steady; his glasses resting on the end table. He has really long eyelashes.

An ace finally lands, and I happily bring it up to the top of my messy pile.

I should be agonizing over the deathly boredom, but I'm kind of just calm.

The night is breathing with Artie; not trying to disrupt the peace.

He doesn't scream this time.

He doesn't even open his eyes.

But he does wildly flail his arm around, searching for something. Breathing quick, labored.

I grab his arm, trying to bring it down; calming it in a way.

His hand just clutches my own; desperate.

Then his body lapses back into relaxation, still holding my hand.

The nurse with the pink hair and nice eyebrows taps in.

"Visiting hours are up, Santana," she tells me. Yup, I'm here so much the nurses know me by name.

I lift my arm an inch, showing that Artie's hand is still laced with mine. "I don't think he's letting go anytime soon."

She smiles close lipped, sighs, then shakes her head. "Okay, tell you what. I'm not kicking you out right now. But if Dr. Hale comes in here, scoot your ass outside, and say that you completely disobeyed me."

"Of course."

Then she leaves, eyes sparkling.

Artie's still asleep.

Whenever I try to let go of his hand, it just closes around me tighter.

* * *

Rachel Berry's meetings are about as pointless as wearing socks with sandals. I know, not my best biting analogy. But I'm tired and haven't insulted someone in days, ergo being way out of touch. Her outfits match her room, mismatched pink and plaid spotted everything. Even if I wasn't a priss like Hummel, I at least knew when something wanted to make me vomit.

Quinn silently sat next to me on Berry's pink couch. She doesn't say a word, and she doesn't even look at me. Which is good. I've been getting pity looks all day. From _everyone. _Except Sue, who's been pushing me even harder ever since I stopped wearing the Cheerios outfit everywhere. Did you know that we're not even required to wear it to school? They just do because it makes them feel all high and mighty. God, if I was ever like that, someone needs to beat me repeatedly until my face looks as bad as Rachel's.

"Fellow glee-clubbers," Rachel begins. Could she maybe refer to us to something besides 'glee-clubbers'? Doesn't that break grammar rules or something? "I think we need to have a chat about Artie."

Shit. My nails rake into the armrest next to me.

"Santana, despite your recent changes to your wardrobe and studying habits, I still believe that there's something going on here," Rachel says.

"What?" My throat closes, unable to come back with a spitting remark about how Rachel's head is so full of air she can't think straight.

"We think you're manipulating him for...sexual reasons," Rachel says.

"We? WE?" I snap. I look wildly around the room. My stomach sank as everyone around me nodded in agreement. Tina's eyes failed to meet mine, Puck's jaw set in a threatening manner, and even Brittany was watching me in confusion.

I can't even speak.

Quinn speaks for me.

"That's ridiculous, Rachel. Did you even bother to think about how Santana is feeling? She's been visiting Artie for weeks! I don't think she's even thinking about sex; the boy's in a hospital for Christ's sake!" she says, eyes burning with rage.

"I agree with Quinn, Rachel. This is a new low," Mercedes says. "I think you're just still boiling over Finn and her."

"What? No-" Rachel stammers. "I'm trying to make you seem that she's trying to hurt Artie again! She's trying to get in his pants then tell the school so she can make him feel bad! This has nothing to do with Finn-"

"Really, Rachel?" I ask, finally speaking up. "I _don't care _about Finn. That was months ago! I could care less about that awkward Frankenstein!" I expect Finn to look hurt, but he's actually mad at Rachel too.

"Not everything has to be about Santana's sex life, Rachel," Finn says. "We've both moved on. Can you?"

"This isn't even about Artie, is it?" I ask.

"This is about you and your little petty revenge," Quinn continues on for me. "You were just trying to have us all turn on her, right?"

"I-" Rachel's still trying to look at the people who originally agreed with her. But some of them are even starting to look doubtful of her actions.  
"Look, Rachel. Santana might be a pain in the ass and kind of a bitch, but she's not heartless," Quinn says. "And she certainly isn't trying to break Artie's heart. I think you're jealous that she actually has a relationship, unlike you, who just has to claw your way through other's lives!"

"WHY CAN'T YOU SEE THAT SHE'S ALL MANIPULATING YOU?" Rachel shouts.

"They don't, because they know I'm not like you," I say. My voice stays low and steady, opposite of Rachel's. Making me seem actually sane. "I am in love with someone and you just can't stand that I may have changed and you can't seem too. You will always be the same awful person, but I can and will better myself. Because he's worth it."

And with that, I get off of her stupid couch, and stomp out of her fucking house. I descend down into the large driveway and into my car. I don't even bother to start it. I just lay my forehead on the steering wheel and cry.

_I hate her. I hate her. I hate her._

Quinn opens the car door and plops in the passenger seat, slamming the door.

"I hate her," she growls, voicing my thoughts.

We stay there, in my shit car, for a while.

"Why? Why did you defend me? I thought you loathed me," I say.

"I still do, in some parts." She unties her hair, and places the hairtie in my palm. "It's yours. I found it in the locker room the first day after your..." she gestures to my pants and t-shirt ensemble. "..change. I was confused on why you didn't leave your hair tied up, but I figured you would want it later, so I put it in my bag. I found it three days ago again. It made me realize how different you are. I'm still not sure if this is the real you, or you changed just for him, but it made me wonder. Wonder if deep down you were a good person."

She looked me right in the eyes. "It reminded me of myself."

I snorted. "Arrogant, much?"

She shook her head. "I'm not trying to pick a fight. When I was pregnant, I changed. I was still me, but I knew that it wasn't all about me. That there's something more important right now then cheerleading and insults. Her. Beth. I'm assuming that's what's happening to you."

I closed my eyes, bowing my head. "Yeah," I whisper. My hand wraps around the hair tie.

"But I was still nicer than I really was. I had to bite back all of my insults so I wouldn't get so stressed," she continued.

"What are you saying?" I ask.

"Don't change completely. I know there's still some tough Santana in there. Let's get her out and plan some revenge," Quinn says.

I smile.

"Rachel Berry, prepare to meet Santana Lopez."


	15. Chapter 15: Supressing Screams

**A/N: I KNEW SANTANA WOULD LOOK GOOD IN STREET CLOTHES!**

"You managed to shut Rachel Berry up?" Kurt asks, bewildered.

I grin. "Yep. If I had duct tape, I would wrap around her whole body and dump her body into the ocean."

Kurt laughed, slapping his knee. "That's classic! God, I wish I was there. I would've filmed it!"

"And she was all like 'I-I-I!'," I said, copying Rachel's horrified stammer. "It was priceless." We fell into a fit of giggles at the image of Rachel at a loss for words. After a while, we both die down, relaxing into those awful hospital chairs.

"It sucks that Dalton is so far away, driving down here and missing all of these 'important' Berry meetings is too much," Kurt says. Then he turns to me, bringing his legs up to his chest. "Despite my opposition to you, I don't agree with Rachel. You've been here as much as I have, and you never once tried anything."

"Thanks, Hummel," I say. "But, really. I need to seriously get back at Rachel."

"Burn her Streisand albums!"

"Steal her argyle socks?"

"Put food dye in her toothpaste, turn her flawless teeth green!"

"Slushie her locker!"

"No, no! Steal her solo!" Kurt said.

"Perfect!" I say. "And make it for a song that I don't even want!"

More laughter.

"You're okay, Hummel."

"I still hate you," he says. "But...I may forgive you if you wipe that smirk off of Berry's face tomorrow."

"Deal."

(Artie's POV)

"Comfortable?" Random Nurse Numero Uno asks.

"Yeah, thanks."

She gives me a sympathetic smile. "Don't worry, you're going home tomorrow."

It's nighttime. I sent my dad home. It's cold, but I wouldn't want to bother the nurse.

The nurse leaves, turning off the lights.

Dark.

I ignore the shadows that creep up. I ignore the wind blowing by.

Okay, so maybe it's weird.

But.

_Gotta be strong, gotta be strong. _

Puck isn't scared of the dark. If he knew I was shaking in the black, he would kick my ass.

Kurt isn't really afraid of anything that doesn't physically hurt him. Except Rachel's wardrobe.

Santana, well, she's tough, and I'm certain she's not afraid of something as childish as monsters under the bed.

Oh, god. Did something just creak?

I shift a bit, trying to reach for my backpack. It's just past the little endtable, I just have to reach...Crap, bumping against the table, my glasses tumble to the ground. I sigh. I'll just get them in the morning. My fingers finally grasp the handle of my bag, and I lift it up. Rummaging around, I produce my pocket flashlight. Flicking it on, my heart rate goes down to normal again.

My shoulders relax back into the pillow. My backpack drops back to floor, and I continue messing with my flashlight.

Flick on.

Flick off.

I form shadow puppets with my hands, and have a mini play. This bunny is trying to get the other bunny's money, but then the bunny totally bitch slaps him! Fight ensues.

It reminds me of the other day when Kurt came in with plastic dinos as a joke, reminder of the past. We ended up having this epic war between the T-Rexs and the Triceratops. My T-Rex kicked ass.

I sigh, and put the flashlight on the end table, keeping it on.

Settling back into my pillow, I close my eyes, breathing steadily.

Not for long.

The explosions start again, causing me to sit up.

Screaming.

So...much...pain...

The nurse bursts in, and begins to immediately pump morphine through my veins.

"Shshshsh, all better now," she says.

My last thoughts before I pass out?

_Where is she?  
_

(Santana's POV)

Brittany approaches me after practice. She's in uniform, but she let her bangs out.

"Do you hate me?" she asks softly.

"What? No!" I say, shocked. "Why would you think that?"

"B-b-b-because you're always with Artie now," she says.

"Britt, who took you to restuff your Build-A-Bear yesterday?" I ask.

"You."

"And who got your shoelaces new aglets?"

"You."

I put a hand on her shoulder. "Remember when we swore that we would never let boys get between us?"

"Yeah."

"I'm not going to forget it. Never will."

"Okay."

Then she smiled really big.

I still felt guilty. Was I really pushing away my friend for him?

But, wait.

Artie's my friend, too.

Well, not anymore.

And if we do start to be on speaking levels again, I want to be more.

"They keep coming," he says. It's the first time he's said an intentional word to me in a week; he had just woken up and was probably not fully awake and ready to shun.

"What does?" I ask.

"My headaches. Migraines."

"I know. You scream."

"Do you scream back?" he asks.

It's an odd question, and it takes me aback.

"If there's enough pressure in my lungs, then I just push it to my head. I scream in there," I tell him.

He nods. "I think I start to do that," he says. "But then it just escapes, and I start screaming again."

I push the hair out of his forehead. "It's gonna be okay."

He doesn't speak again. Maybe he's screaming in his head. Like I am.

* * *

After visiting hours are up, I stop by Breadstix to have a huge plate of spaghetti. It calms me down and stops me from tossing a chair or something across the room. There is no progress. Artie's not forgiving me. Will he ever? I absently twirl a noodle around my fork while I think. I was a bitch. I was always a bitch. I liked it. People never talked back to me. But now...is this karma? Am I being punished? Oh, god...

"Hey...Santana, right?" Some dude asks. I sigh, and look up.

"Oh." He looks really familiar. Dapper gentlemen's outfit, combed hair, kinda plain...OH! "You're Blaine! Kurt's beeyotch!"

He raises an eyebrow. "I didn't know that was my title."

"Well, that's how I categorize you." I blink a few times, thinking about what to say. "Sit, please," I say, gesturing to the other end of the booth. He does, sliding in awkwardly. I clear my throat. "So you know my name," I say.

"I know you. I've seen you. Never gotten your name, but Kurt does mutter and gripe about a 'bitchy Latino girl who doesn't know how to love' a lot. You're pretty much the only Latino girl I know how Kurt knows, so..."

"Wow," I say, shaking my head. "Kurt is just sooo obsessed with me." I smile.

"I know the whole story," Blaine says, waving down a waiter.

"Wha-" The waiter approaches us.

"Yes?" she asks.

"I'll have a Coke, thanks," Blaine says.

"Water..." I croak, then shove another forkful of spaghetti in my mouth. The waiter walks away, and I swallow the unchewed lump. "He told you about..."

"You and Artie."

"Oh, shit! What a big mouth!" I say. Blaine laughs.

"Yeah, that's Kurt."

"So what? You gonna give me advice? Because I need it, definitely."

"Honestly? Time heals all wounds. Just don't do anything to screw it up further, and it'll be good." I scoff.

"That's your big advice? Just wait patiently?"

"Yeah, sorry. I'm not a huge romantic expert."

"What about Kurt?" I ask.

"What about us? Nothing's going on between us," he protests, taking a sip of his drink. I waggle my eyebrows suggestively.

"Oh really, Mr. Gentlemen? You share a dorm, sure you haven't gone at it like wild fucking monkeys?" He chokes on his soda.

"No! No! That's not how it's like at all."

I wink. "Sure, you wild beast."

_Riiiiiing. _

"Hello?" I say, answering my phone.

"_Santana, it's Quinn."_

"Oh, hey Quinn," I say. _She's the ex-preggo one, _I mouth to Blaine. He laughs quietly and shakes his head.

"_All of the glee girls, excluding Rachel, are going to the Under 21 club. Wanna come?"_

"A club? I don't know..."

"_Don't get all granny on me now. Everyone wants to apologize for being so harsh to you earlier."_

What's a good excuse to get out of this? Crapcrapcrapcrap...

"Uh, I'm with Blaine right now!" I say.

"_Take him with you!"_

Shit. "Fine, I'll go!" I snap the phone shut. "You heard her. Let's go."


	16. Chapter 16: Out The Door

I am standing here with a wine cooler in my hand, staring out at the dancefloor. One of the requests of actually going dancing, was going to a real club, not a fucking Under 21 one. I shoved fake in everyone's hands, and Blaine said to me that he already had one. There's a lot I don't know about this guy.

The guy in question is standing next to me, awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to another, wondering whether or not to get a drink. I'm only having a wine cooler because I don't feel like getting hammered. Not with so much stuff on my mind.

"Something the matter?" I ask Blaine. He snaps out of his thoughts like an elastic band.

"The music here is exceedingly average," he says pointedly.

I snort. "Dude, it's a club. The standard here is low hip hop beats with minimal lyrics. You're supposed to dance, not sing." I take another long sip of my drink, the cool liquid getting caught up in my throat. It burns a little, but not like vodka does. More like guilt. Or shame. I watch as the glee girls attempt to blend in, but it's amusing how they stick out like sore thumbs. They're wearing soft dresses, not the sharp edges that the young adults here are. I'm wearing a low cut dress, and there's about two feet of cleavage sticking out. I have no idea, though. The guy I want to impress is lying in a hospital bed right now. Besides, he couldn't even dance here. The thought makes my eyes water a bit, and I take another gulp.

"Uh, a grasshopper," Blaine says to the barkeep.

"Wow, if you're trying to not be gay, then you're failing. Miserably," I say.

"Seeing how I'm not trying to be heterosexual, I'm fine with the fruity drink." He takes a small sip, his pinky finger sticking up.

"Why did we come here?" I ask.

"Because you were miserable and dragged me along."

"And why did I drag you along?"

He smiles, looking down at his feet. "I'm guessing that you needed to have a barrier. If you're talking to me, guys won't talk to you, and you won't have to dance."

"Oh." I didn't know that was the reason, but I like it. "Thanks, then, Barrier."

"No problem."

It's silent again. I mean between us. The bass of the music can be heard from the dancefloor, and it's humming in my ears.

The DJ, in his huge sunglasses, changes the song. A tinny beat comes out, and actual lyrics are being sung.

"Dance with me?" I ask Blaine, grinning. He shrugs, sets down his drink, and takes me out to the floor.

"Hey, I know this song," Blaine says, and begins singing softly along. "_I see that look in her face, she's got that look in her eye...She's thinking how did I get here, and wondering why..." _ He's looking right in my eyes, with sincerity. I quickly break eye contact, looking out at the mass of bodies. I place a hand on Blaine's shoudler, his on my hip. We join our other hands together, and sway gently. He's still singing. "_It's sad but it's true how society says her life is already over." _Why is he singing this? Who is 'her'? I mean, it's just the song that's playing, right? _"There's nothing to do and there's nothing to say,"_

"Blaine?" I whisper softly. He leans down, and sings softly right in my ear.  
"'_Til the man of her dreams comes along, picks her up and puts her over his shoulder. It seems so unlikely in this day and age..."_

"Are you singing about Ar-" he places an index finger on my lips, and sings a tad louder. "Whenever she thinks about it, it brings her to tears..."

"Blaine? What are you doing?" I ask, pounding him a little on the chest. People are starting to look at him, since he's singing along to a girl singer. God, this is so embarrassing...  
"_'Cause all she wants is a boyfriend, she gets one night stands..." _This is about me. Exactly. What the-  
"_She's thinking how did I get here, I'm doing all that I can_ ..."

All of the glee girls that are still on the dancefloor look over and sing along to the chorus.

"_It's sad but it's true how society says her life is already over  
There's nothing to do and there's nothing to say  
'Til the man of her dreams comes along  
Picks her up and puts her over his shoulder  
It seems so unlikely in this day and age..._" They're crowding around me.

Man of my dreams.

Artie...

Everything's getting really hot in here. Sweaty. Some guys try to grope me, and I wonder where Blaine is. He eventually grabs ahold of me again, pulling me away.

I try to nudge people out of the way, but they're all absorbed in their partners. I attempt to break away from Blaine, but he doesn't notice, still singing.

"_It seems so unlikely in this day and age..._"

I push them away. Blaine, Quinn, even Brittany.

Why are they reminding me?

Are they trying to comfort me?

I shove my way out of the crowd, and slam down a ten dollar bill for the drinks on the wooden bar. The bartender sends a look of sympathy my way, and I just about burst into tears. Screw their pity. I push the door open, past the stupid bouncer. I'm running now, not sure where. My high heels scream with all of the pressure, and I pull them off, dangling them in my hands. It's raining, and I don't notice. I'm pretty sure I'm crying now. The random people on the sidewalk stare as I go past, but I ignore them. I just want to get home. Crawl under my covers. Maybe I am drunk. People tell me I'm a weepy drunk.

My cellphone buzzes from inside my purse. I consider not answering, because it's probably Quinn or someone.

But it's not.

It's Artie's dad.

"Santana? Artie just got home," he says when she answers. I stop moving, limbs frozen. I finally register the raindrops splattering my hair, and the eyeliner that's probably smudged around my eyes.

"What?" I ask distantly.

"Artie. He's been released, and he's at home. He's resting right now, but I wondered if you'd want to come over and have some hot cocoa if it's not too late for you." How sweet. Mr. Abrams considers 9:30 late, when her mother would be shocked if she came home this early.

"That sounds great," I say. It really does, considering.

I finally analyze my surroundings. There's a sign, or something. Squinting, I can figure out what street I'm on and vaguely go in the direction I'm sure Artie's house is. I keep walking, barefoot and soaked, head held high, until I reach the familiar white house with a small vegetable garden and a ramp leading to the porch. I was here before, but using my stealth skills to climb the walls and deliver the guitar to Artie's room. I've had practice with climbing walls into random boys houses. I gulp, not proud of that fact, and knock on the door. I have to wait a few seconds, water still soaking my shoulders. Mr. Abrams finally opens it, and his eyes widen at my disheveled appearance.

"Don't ask," I grumble as I walk inside.

"I think I might have to, as a parent," he says, eyes sweeping over me. I realize that I must still have this stupid dress on, soaked to the brim, and makeup in various places on my face.

"Look, some stressful things happened at a club, I wanted to get out of there, and so I just left. I was just walking around when you called."

"You didn't have a car or anything?"

"I-" Shit. "I must've left it at the club." I bow my head. He pats my shoulder, and leads me into the warm kitchen.

"Come inside and get warm. You must be freezing." Now that he mentions it, my teeth are chattering like mad.

Their kitchen is the cozy style, with wood tables and cinnamon smells. Mr. Abrams hands me a steaming mug filled with hot chocolate.

"Cookies?" he asks, and offers me a plate of mouth watering wafers.

"Thanks," I say, shoving one in my mouth, enjoying every bite. "Did your wife make these?" I ask, sitting up on the countertop.

His hands lock in place, still clutching the plate. _Idiot, _I think. _He must've made them himself, and you made him feel less masculine._

"Mrs. Abrams died in the accident that crippled Artie," he says quietly. I swallow my cookies, eyes wide.

"I am so sorry!" I say quickly. "I had no-"

"It's quite alright," he says, smiling. "I forgive you."

"Dad? Is that you?" a voice echoes out. "Did you make cookies and not give me some?" Artie wheels into the kitchen.

"Oh, hello Artie. You're up," Mr. Abrams says. Artie nodded, smiling, but then his eyes slid over to me, sitting there. Eating his cookies. I wave silently. "I invited Santana over."

"Uh, hi," he says. "You look..."

"I know," I say, forcing a laugh. "Terrible."

"Just...weathered," he corrects. Weathered. Sounds better than terrible.

"Want some hot chocolate?" he asks.

"No, I don't want melted chocolate. Cocoa is better," Artie says. It takes me a few seconds to realize he was just teasing. I guess I've gotten used to Brittany's innocence.

Artie cradles the mug when Mr. Abrams hands it to him. Mr. Abrams clears his throat, and says, "I'll leave you kids alone."

After he retreats to the upstairs part of the house, my eyes lock with Artie's. This time, I don't want to look away.

"Artie, I..."

"Santana, I still won't forgive you."

I take in a deep breath, and gaze up at the ceiling. I was ready for this. I was going to come up with a valid argument, and say my reasons and points, then grovel for forgiveness.

Instead, I look Artie right in the eyes.

"Artie, I think I love you."


	17. Chapter 17: Last Minute Fluff

**A/N: Yeah. 4 months. Would "I'm sorry!" work? **

**Here, you might want some wine with the cheesiness and fluff that is ahead. **

"I think I'm in love with you." she repeats, taking another breath. "No, you know what? I _know _I'm in love with you, and I will do anything to change your mind about me."

My hands grip my wheels. I want to look away from her eyes, full of remorse. There are a million different things I want to say, a billion different things I want to _do,_ some of which are violent, others not so much. But one word keeps repeating itself in my mind, over and over. "Why?"

Her eyes waver, and her throat hitches. "W-w-well, I mean, mostly, because I try to lie around you, I really do, but I just can't. You...affect me. I care about what you're feeling, what you like, how you respond, and if you laughed. Never, in my life, has my being depended on someone else. And I _know, _dammit, that that's supposed to be a bad thing. I know. I'm independent, always have been. But with you." She gulps, still not breaking eye contact. "With you, I'm not afraid to depend on somebody else. I'm not scared of being vulnerable, showing who I really am, because I know you aren't going to tear it into shreds. I'm certain you'd catch me if I fell too far. That's what I depend on. I depend on you catching me.

"I was shocked when you told me off when I bitched out at the show, okay? I believed you would be pissed, but I wasn't prepared. It broke my heart, which is fair I guess, because I tore yours. That girl? The one who did all of those awful things? Wasn't me. That was the coward in me, who was terrified, utterly _terrified_," her hands were shaking. She did look away this time, staring into her lap. "of being who I am."

"Who are you?" I ask, in a whisper. Non accusatory. Santana looks genuinely surprised by the question, eyes meeting mine once again.

"I don't know. I guess, the coward. The girl who sleeps with men and speaks her opinions and sluts out and shows exactly how tough she is. The one who can flip off a pyramid and flip off Rachel Berry as well. The bitch."

"That's not-"

"No. Stop." She holds up a hand. "I am her. She's what makes me who I am. But then, there's the Santana I met recently. I think I met her the same exact time I met you." she smiles, softly. "The artist, who watches Star Wars and is able to fall in love. The one who learns from her mistakes, and is able to laugh with her enemies in the midst of tragedy. The friend."

"You were all of those things before we met," I say softly, crossing my arms in my lap.

"No, I wasn't." she pushes herself off of the counter, stepping towards me and gazing down on me. "At least, I couldn't admit it. She was a secret, locked waaaay down deep in there. But I like both of them. One makes me resilient, standing up for what I think is my way. The other makes me passionate, wanting what lies beyond the surface."

"What about your reputation? Your popularity?" I ask, pushing my glasses up.

"Fuck the rest. I want you." She takes my hand, gently. "Please, tell me you feel the same. I think I might just break if you reject me." Her voice cracks in the middle.

I squeeze my eyes shut, then open them again.

"Some things, you never want to let go," I begin. I'm speaking more to myself than to her. "Some good things. First experiences. Great vacations. Loved ones' faces. Memories that make you feel warm." I swallow, wanting to stop, but pushing on. "Some horrible things, you want to forget so badly, but they never leave. The last words to a mother before she dies. The squeal of tires as they crash. When someone breaks your heart."

Santana bows her head, tears falling from her face. "I understand. I'll leave."

"Hey, I let you give your speech. Let me give mine," I joke. She turns back around. "That day when you ate my heart for lunch will burn in my memory for a very long time. But you know what I remember now, more than ever? Being human. People side step around me. They treat me like the most fragile thing, just because of my disability. You didn't care. To you, 'Cripple' was a term of endearment. Just a nickname for description, not something to pity. Every person I've ever been with has only seen the wheelchair. And you, with what you just said, made me realize how happy I could be with you. How happy I _can _be with you."

The clock ticks away, Santana frozen in place, unsure what to say. "Does this mean-"

"Wait." I say, and fear springs back into the girl's eyes. "If I am going to ask you to be my girlfriend, I want to do it eye to eye."

I roll over to the edge of the counter, and begin lifting myself out of the wheelchair. Santana makes a move to help me, but I shoo her off with a good natured glare. I hoist myself on the countertop, and she follows, our legs both dangling over the edge. I take her hands in mine, trying to hold back the giggles by how cheesy this all is. But I swallow my pride, gaze into her eyes, and say, "Santana Lopez. I am formally asking you to be my girlfriend. If you choose to accept, you must go on dates to restaurants where we poke fun at the waiter's greasy mustache, theatres where we snort incessantly at the utter dramaticness of a poorly written romantic comedy, and to staying at home, where we'll probably watch Star Wars and you'll draw endlessly for me. We will erase the past, taking names and kicking ass. Our ridiculous couple name shall be Artana, and I'll meet your mom and you'll meet my dad better. We, will essentially, be THE couple. Got it?"

Santana leans forward, making a move to kiss me. I stop her with one finger, pushing her back. "No kiss right now. My dad's upstairs and your soaking wet." My eyes move up and down her body. "Not that I care." Santana smacks my arm, and we both laugh. "Kidding, kidding. Call me a romantic, but I'd rather have our first kiss together be somewhere a tad more private."

"Artie Abrams, you have no idea how badly I want to drag you in bed and screw your brains out," Santana said bluntly.

I gulped, chuckling nervously. "Shut up! My dad's right upstairs." I shift my weight, meeting her eyes again. "So is that a yes? Will you be my girlfriend?"

"I can't believe you even thought you'd have to ask."

* * *

(Santana's POV)

You know what was the coolest thing ever?

The look on everyone's face when I sat in Artie's lap when I came into glee.

There were a lot of wolf whistles, and I didn't even feel embarrassed. I was proud of him.

Quinn sat next to us, patting my shoulder. "Congratulations."

I wanted to chew her out for the incident at the club, but I couldn't bring myself to care. I may have never grown the balls to tell Artie how I felt if it weren't for everyone.

"You're alright, Fabray."

"I'm glad you figured everything out."

I nodded. It was right, I had.

Rachel waltzed up to me, sticking out a hand. "I apologize for my meddling, Santana. You both are obviously very happy together, and I wish you the best."

"Apology not accepted, bitch," I said, but smiled. "Thanks, though."

Mr. Schue came into the room, then, grinning like crazy. "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm proud to present...Kurt Hummel!"

Kurt sauntered into the room, and everyone burst into applause. I did too, I admit. He was a real friend to Artie, and shoved this thing all together. We all sang and danced, because for once, there was no drama. It was just a bunch of friends who had a knack of getting in shitty situations, who also were extremely talented to boot.

Kurt talked to me after school.

"Hey, Satan."

"Hey, Hummel."

We stared at eachother for a long time, trying to make the other break.

"I hate you."

"The feeling is mutual."

"Take care of him."

"Kinky."

"Not in that way, you know what I mean."

"I do."

"You earned him."

"That I did."

"Goodbye."

"Later."

* * *

It was by the river. They had just finished a Star Wars marathon cuddled up on the couch eating Artie's dad's cookies. There was a lot of laughter and hand holding. Then Santana asked if he wanted to take a walk, metaphorically for him.

She pushed him along the riverside, talking and chuckling.

"You look beautiful in the moonlight," Artie murmured. Santana rolled her eyes at the corniness of the words, but knelt down in front of him.

"Now?" she asked.

"Now."

She leaned forward, and her lips gently brushed Artie's.

And everything built up for the past few months just burst, and she embraced it, with Artie pulling her closer and the passion exploding.

Everything was going to be alright.

**A/N2: Epilogue to come. **


End file.
